


Un Dia Important

by helianskies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Antonio is a sly romantic, Arthur is a clueless fool, Birthday Presents, Francis just wants to be a good friend, Friendship, Gift Giving, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Meeting Setting, Romantic Gestures, Short & Sweet, Symbolism, and this is the end result
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies
Summary: April 23rd might possibly be an important day for more than one person - especially this year.
Relationships: England/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	Un Dia Important

Of all the days in the year, there was one that Arthur wished people would just leave alone for him to enjoy in peace, at home, in the sanctity of his own personal bubble: his birthday. Was it really so much to ask? It was only one little day in an entire year of days that could be booked for meetings and talks and the limited social interactions he occasionally sanctioned in his schedule. Apparently, it was indeed too much to ask.

It was April 23rd – St. George’s Day and Arthur’s Birthday – and by some twist of fate, he had once more been summoned to what felt like an irrelevant meeting in Brussels. Part of him had at first wondered if Belgium had selected the date herself, but he had found no reason for someone rather kind and gentle to want to spite him in such a way, so he had relented. It was merely an unfortunate case of coincidence. And as such, it had resulted in him spending the majority of a meeting with the other European nations discussing the usual policies and ideas that, to him, were all arbitrary. He didn’t care. He just wanted to be at home.

So, when the meeting finally ended after a straight six hours of debating since nine o’clock that morning, Arthur had no plans to hang around for too long.

As he was packing his things away, careful to ensure that none of his (useless) notes got bent, he spied the presence of one of his closer acquaintances. Usually he would have gone straight into telling Francis to go away, but his energy had been wasted on trying to debate with Ivan, so he only gave the Frenchman a brief glance to at least make him aware that he had acknowledged his presence.

That was good enough for Francis.

“It’s not often I see you this desperate to get out of a room,” he remarked with a light laugh. Arthur almost then found the immediate rush to throw a snarky comment back his way (something like, _I know, you’re only used to it when we’re in Paris_ ) but he had grown too indifferent to such jabs. He could be civil when he wanted to. “Have you finally made some plans to help pass your birthday?”

Arthur gave a quiet scoff. “Hardly. I don’t make my own birthday plans, Fate does that for me instead,” the Brit stated. He picked up his bag and began to walk out of the meeting room, and Francis, in what the Brit called ‘desperation’, followed him. “Hence the majority of my day has been spent here in Brussels and not my garden.”

“Is that where you’re going now, then? You are going to fly back to England so you can sit around in your garden and stare at your roses?” Francis enquired with an arched brow and a slight smile. They both knew the question was more rhetorical than inquisitive. “Are you sure you would not prefer to go out this evening and see what Brussels may have on offer?”

“I’d rather not, thanks,” Arthur replied.

It wasn’t that he thought Francis was bad company or that Brussels would have nothing substantial ‘on offer’, as it had been phrased, but that Arthur knew his limits. And, simply put, he knew that going out would lead to drinking which would lead to (mild) debauchery which would lead to a mean hangover the day after. Arthur didn’t much fancy the subsequent headaches and lethargy, when the time could be better spent reading, gardening or… Doing pretty much anything that wasn’t vomiting, sleeping, aching or anything else associated with the Brit’s notoriously severe hangovers.

Fortunately for him, he wasn’t the only person who had come to learn such preferences, as Francis gave a soft hum of acceptance. It came as a relief to Arthur.

“Sorry,” the shorter nation went on. “Maybe another time. I would just rather enjoy the rest of today on my own, if that’s alright. It’s actually _sunny_ back home. It’d be nice to see the garden in something other than light drizzle or torrential downpour.”

“Is the rain really so bad that you can’t even call it ‘rain’ these days?” Francis joked.

A soft laugh passed his lips and Arthur even let himself find some humour in the words, but it was a brief, fleeting smile that disappeared just as fast. Moments like this were things he would allow to slip through the cracks in his bubble from time to time. Arthur couldn’t be uncivil or reserved or dismissive for all the hours in the day, and because today was supposed to be special, then he would allow himself to keep Francis’ company.

It shouldn’t even have been as controversial as it sounded. Arthur could smile, he could be friendly… There was just a limited list of people that he would let see that side of him, that was all. There was a reputation he had to uphold.

Further into their corridor walk, the pair found themselves talking about the state of Arthur’s garden since the subject had arisen. Living in the outskirts of the massive city, he had found a property years back, equipped with a garden to satisfy his needs when he couldn’t pass his days in the countryside of the South-West. It was an object of pride for him. So much so that, when the conversation got suddenly interrupted and he had to stop his spiel about the status of his geraniums, he was somewhat disgruntled.

The interruption had come in the form of a certain Spaniard, who had popped up on the other side of Francis with a slight redness to his cheeks and an apparent need to catch his breath. Arthur found himself less annoyed after a few seconds of the other two making some passing small talk, the atmosphere settling around them. Centuries ago, this wouldn’t have been so easy. Heavens, _decades_ ago, this wouldn’t have been so easy.

“Ah, how are you, Antoine?” Francis had asked his close friend (though Arthur had to remind himself that even those two had a turbulent relationship, so… Perhaps it was Francis who had problems with friends and not himself? Ha, the very thought!).

“All good, thanks,” came the chipper response in the meantime, “I’m just glad to be out of that room. It was starting to get stuffy and I can only take sitting near Feliks for so long. Like, he’s a good guy but he can also be intense when you hit certain subjects.” He gave a faint, meek laugh before he turned his attention to Arthur. “How about you, hm? You good?”

“As good as I can be,” Arthur assured him with a light, thin smile, before his face fell back into its standard neutral form.

“I’m assuming that’s a positive answer, so… Good?” Antonio said, apparently not as convinced by his assumption all the same. “At least I didn’t sense any sarcasm that time! I’m getting better with that!”

And Arthur had to hand it to him: “I suppose you are, yes.” But that seemed to bring the topic to a close and the last thing he wanted was for there to be awkwardness in its place. He figured that he should be one the try and save the situation. “Was there something you were after, Antonio? Only, we were having a chat…”

“Ah, yes—”

The trio stopped walking and stepped aside so as not to block the oncoming nations from passing and leaving. Both blondes watched as Antonio fumbled for a moment in his bag, looking for something, until he retrieved what appeared to be a parcel covered in plain brown paper. It was only when Arthur realised it had garden twine wrapped carefully around its form that it clicked what it was. Needless to say that Arthur was somewhat surprised.

Antonio held it out to Arthur and offered up one of his trademark warm smiles along with it. Such a smile could make the sun envious at times, he could’ve sworn. 

“For your birthday,” Antonio said (as if it needed explaining), and Arthur took it with a quiet thanks whilst the Spaniard proceeded to ramble on at speed: “It’s just a little something, but I figured that after suffering through a meeting today when you probably would've preferred being at home, you might need a little pick-me-up. Something to make you smile.”

“Well, I—”

“And before you say or ask or whatever: no, I didn’t need reminding that it was today! I never forget a birthday,” he added on.

That would be because Arthur had not received a present from him in recent years, the Brit imagined. He had had cards sent to him here and there – as did most of the world on their birthdays, he was pretty sure – but this was the first time in the last few years he had been gifted something more than words. It was… A nice (but somewhat suspicious) change.

“That’s not true,” Francis tried to protest whilst Arthur was in his own world, “because I’m pretty sure a few years back you neglected to wish me a happy birthday, and I’m supposed to be your—"

“That’s because we weren’t on speaking terms,” the brunette supplied with a certain look cast towards his French neighbour, however. Arthur had felt a slight chill flush down the hall. “Don’t forget that, tío. ”

The response had apparently satisfied Francis, who had conceded with a sheepish laugh, and instead gestured for him to carry on as he was. Perhaps Arthur had been right all along; perhaps Francis really _did_ struggle with his friendships rather than him. But then, Francis arguably maintained more friendships than Arthur did, so he ended up refuting the idea entirely and instead refocused on Antonio.

“Thank you, Antonio,” he said, helping clear the tension. “It’s really quite kind of you…”

“It’s no problem! I just hope you like it,” Antonio replied, beaming. Gosh, even the littlest of things could make him happy, couldn’t they? Though, it wasn’t often Arthur said thank you, so, was it technically a _big_ thing? “You don’t have to open it now, but— Just as some point today, okay? It loses its magic if you don’t open it on the day!”

“I thought you didn’t believe in magic,” Arthur retorted with a raised brow.

Antonio challenged him with a grin. “Not in your kind, no,” he jested, but it seemed he had already stayed too long as the expression didn’t last and he spent all of two seconds looking utterly lost. Then, he addressed the both of them: “Sorry, I, uh, have to go now. I’m supposed to be meeting with Emmeline, Bastiaan and Lovino for a chat and a drink, God help me,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you both around soon, I hope.”

With that, Francis received a quick nudge, wink and smile by way of saying goodbye, and the brunette looked to Arthur. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind as he stared right back into such familiar eyes (eyes he had watched laugh; eyes he had watched scream; eyes he had watched cry). _Felicitaciones_ , he had said before he had hastily parted from the group and left the others to it. Apparently he was more keen for that chat and drink than he had made out.

Deciding to tuck the gift away into his own bag, Arthur did as such and began to idly stroll along the hallway once more, Francis in tow. Once the item was secured, his pace instantly picked back up and they resumed as they had been before. More or less. That is, Antonio may have left, but his presence had not.

“So, since when have the two of you been such good friends, hm?” Francis asked Arthur, intrigued. That, or he was still bitter about one of his best friends’ past scorns for him – which, he had to note, was far from the first time the two of them had had a rough patch. “I’m surprised. I mean, he sends cards out to pretty much everyone I can think of, but when it comes to gifts, Toni tends to be more… _Selective_.”

“Jealous, Frog?” Arthur questioned, relishing suddenly in the implied superiority that receiving the present had given him.

“No, it is not that,” the Frenchman replied, however, which made Arthur’s proud grin soon fade away with a huff. “Rather, it is a curious thing given that in previous years, the two of you have been known to provide some of the more fiery arguments that the rest of us have had the pleasure of witnessing.”

He wasn’t wrong. Britain and Spain were hardly the best of friends. But that was politics, that was simply the cumulative influence of leaders, history and society from over the years. When it came to Arthur and Antonio as individuals, they could actually have their rather civil moments.

Take the month previously, for example: Arthur had been in Madrid on diplomatic business, and Antonio had managed to get them half a day off and out of meetings (probably the innocent smile and charming words… Or was it… Charming smile and innocent—?) so they could wander the streets of the capital instead. It had been extremely pleasant, in all, and Antonio had even indulged him in a lesson on the history of Spanish art in the national museum. Arthur explained this in detail to Francis by way of evidence, but Francis was no more appeased by such things.

But hey, at least they were finally outside by the end of it.

“You should open it,” Francis suggested before they were forced to part ways. “Maybe you can thank him in person, then. Before you fly home.”

Arthur, however, had not been born yesterday. “You just want to know what it is, don’t you?”

“Maybe just a little.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“You’re too used to me.”

“Tell me about it,” the Brit said with a roll of his eyes. But he couldn’t deny his own curiosity, so why not simply kill two birds with one stone? He gestured to the smoking area off to the side of the main entrance to the building, an empty space that would put them out of the way of anyone else that was trying, like him, to go home. “Come on, we’ll have a look together.”

He moved to the sheltered space and fished for the package he had been given in his bag, whilst Francis joined him and let his eyes drift between Arthur and the other nations that he saw leaving the building, simply to occupy himself. Once Arthur had what he needed, he closed his bag and got ready to unwrap it.

“Hold on, there appears to be a tag,” his French companion remark, pointing to the underside of the parcel, a small piece of beige paper hanging crooked from the rim. “I see he really has gone for the plain look this time…”

“What, are you used to gold-leaf covered presents or something?” Arthur responded with a light scoff. He turned the package over and turned the tag into a position where he would be able to see it. “I like it, frankly. It’s simple and neat, and I feel less guilty about ripping it all up. Now…” His gaze drifted to foreign words carefully scribed on the paper. “ _F_ _eliç aniversari_. Isn't that—”

“Catalan. Interesting choice,” Francis mused, oblivious to the sharp look he was receiving in turn from a Brit who didn't appreciate the interruption. “Antonio has a personal appreciation for all of his country’s languages. I'm not sure why he picked that one specifically, though...”

“At least it’s not in Basque,” Arthur mumbled, less hung up on the sentiments of it all. “I wouldn’t know where to being with pronunciation.”

“You and me both.”

With not nearly as much care that had been placed into the wrapping of his gift, Arthur pulled off the tag and the twine it had been attached to and went about tearing off the paper. Francis took the waste in his hands (the useful rubbish-collector he was) and Arthur gave a somewhat pleased and intrigued hum as he unveiled what had been tucked inside: a book. He flicked his gaze over the title cover and the blurb, all the while oblivious to the more shocked look present on Francis’ face – a look he would not see when he looked back to the Frenchman seconds later.

“Interesting choice. ‘ _The Shadow in the Wind_ ’,” Arthur recited, sharing the book’s title. He glanced down to the hardback copy. “I hope it’s a decent read. I suppose I’ll give it a nose during my flight.”

“It’s the English version, then?”

“Seems so.”

Arthur held the book higher and held it in one hand, using his other to flick rapidly through the hundreds of pages. Unleashed was that heavenly, woody scent of clean paper, perfectly characteristic of new books and an integral part to their charm. Musty, old books were one thing, but new books just had that extra _wow_ factor _._ They hadn’t yet had their journey; they hadn’t passed hands; their pages hadn’t been tainted by strangers’ fingers; their words had not yet been read…

And once more, a faint smile fell upon the Brit’s face as he closed his eyes and absorbed the scent. He was only pulled from his stupor when Francis tapped him on the shoulder and brought him back round. Arthur looked at him, about to tell him off for ruining the precious moment, but he was instantly quietened when he saw the other was holding something up to him.

“This fell out of the book,” Francis said. In his hand was a pressed flower – a small red carnation. “I’m assuming that… This is meant to be part of the present…”

Arthur’s brows quirked into a quizzical frown and he took the flower with a momentary hesitation. “Why on earth…?” A quiet laugh tumbled from his lips. “I think Antonio might be losing the plot, you know. Why he thinks I’d want a flower is beyond me, especially when I already have a patch of carnations at home.”

“You grow carnations?” Francis spoke too quietly to even go noticed.

“It’s the thought that counts, though, right?” Arthur thus finished, oblivious to the other's words.

With a slow precision, he tucked the flower into the front pages of the book and closed it again, before he turned his attention to Francis. He had been ready to say his own farewells and see you next times… But he had stopped on the spot when he at last took in Francis’ face and saw the glint in his eyes and the colour of his face.

“Everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said with some newfound concern in his tone. “You didn’t— Actually see a ghost, did you—?”

“Arthur?” The Brit bit his tongue and waited for Francis to continue, not wanting to interrupt him. “Do you know what today is?”

Suddenly, he felt greatly underwhelmed and disappointed. “It’s my birthday, we’ve been over this,” he responded, his care and concern gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Don’t tell me you’re going senile, Francis.”

“No, no,” the other blonde reassured him with a sheepish laugh. “That is not what I was referring to. It is April 23rd, Arthur,” he elaborated, trying to help his friend make the connections himself. “St. George’s Day, yes?”

“Yes…? What of it?”

Francis rolled his eyes. _Hopeless_. “I can’t believe you’re associated with that Holmes detective you love so much,” he mumbled under his breath, before continuing and cutting off Arthur before he could start spitting vehement insults at him: “Just think about what was written on the tag, what you received, and who it is from. That is all I will say.”

But Arthur didn’t understand. He stood there in silence for several seconds before Francis gave a sigh and made an excuse to leave, which only disgruntled the Brit further. He would let Arthur work it out for himself and then handle whatever resulted. So Arthur watched him walk away down the pathway and off along the Belgian streets, a figure disappearing into the distance and the background of his mind as he focused his attention of the puzzle he had been left.

The puzzle would bother him until he made it to the airport, got onto his plane, and resorted to using the Internet to cheat his way to the answer. When he found what he had been searching for, Arthur almost had a heart attack.

He had never moved so fast, telling the flight crew that had been assigned to him to stop what they were doing and wait for him because he had something he needed to deal with before he departed. They hadn't even a chance to respond before he raced through the airport and snagged the first taxi he could. During the drive, he had started frantically texting Lovino, demanding to know their location and whether or not Antonio was with them.

Oh, when he found that damned Spaniard, he would have some serious explaining to do!

**Author's Note:**

> In Catalonia, St George's Day is like their version of Valentine's day. People give each other gifts to express their love - typically a book for a man, and a rose for a woman.
> 
> Hence, Antonio, on April 23rd, found a sneaky way to subtly confess some particular feelings to Arthur without having to make up an excuse for a present, or having to explain himself.
> 
> Though, something tells me he's going to get an earful when Arthur gets his hands on him...
> 
> ❊ Set in a time when the world is functioning as normal and life is as good as ever for everyone, because we need some feel-good vibes rn ❊  
> * Written a couple days ago and not properly checked over, so forgive any errors pls ty *


End file.
